


What Hasn't Been Said

by Folle



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Destiel - Freeform, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, he ded, im so so sorry, late season eight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-14
Updated: 2014-06-14
Packaged: 2018-02-04 14:24:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1782253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Folle/pseuds/Folle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He regrets not saying 'I love you' sooner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Hasn't Been Said

**Author's Note:**

> Lord forgive me for I have sinned.
> 
> This was just supposed to be some trolling but...
> 
> How did it get so out of hand?

Dean stared down at his body, hot tears welling in the corner of his eyes. "No..." he whispered, voice broken. He sunk to his knees. The floor of the warehouse was grimy and dirty, and it made Dean ever more sad, his heart not so much as sinking into the pit of his stomach, but abandoning his body all together. 

The skeletal pattern of wings were permanently etched into the floor, surrounding the lifeless corpse that had already begun to decompose. What skin was left was mottled and grey. Even in death Castiel looked angelic, his hair like a halo that went out around his head. 

Dean knew something bad had happened to Cas, he hadn't responded to prayers, and none of the other angels knew where he was. He became frantic, searching for him, but came up with nothing. Sam watched as he had spiraled into something dark, something he had seen before and learned fear over the years. 

It was his loss of hope.

The hunter scooped up the body into his arms, pulling it into his lap, hugging the dead angel to his chest. He doesn't even know if he should be calling him the angel, he deserved better. He deserved to be called a hero. A selfless, amazing hero. He was Dean's angel, Dean's personal savior who not only literally pulled him from hell, but pulled him from the dark recesses of his ever growing depression. He thought it had been for the greater good. For the work he had to do for God. 

In fact that's what he had believed Castiel did everything for. For God and heaven and all of his brothers and sisters, and later because of their friendship. Dean didn't know that Castiel had done it, all of it, out of pure adoration and love for the hunter until their eyes met at that river bank in purgatory.

The tears were rolling down his flush cheeks, his eyes clenched close tight. Sam himself stood off to the side, watching his brother from a distance. There were so many things left unsaid, so many things that Dean had wanted to tell Cas; how he loved the way his eyes twinkled when he bit down into a burger, or how he wasn't a friend, he was family, and they never gave up on family, no matter how corrupt they became. 

How he wanted to hold Cas and tell him everything was okay, tell him he would always have a home with them. 

How he dreamed about ever so hesitantly kissing Cas, softly, holding him tight in his arms. 

How he wanted to hold Castiel while they slept, and whisper sweet nothings into his ear. 

There were many things left unsaid. And one of those things was how much he loved him. He wanted to stare into Castiel's eyes one more time, full of warmth and love and hope, and tell him everything he had been suppressing. The angels cold, blank, lifeless eyes stared up into the clouded windows, and Dean couldn't stand the sight of them. He gripped the dirtied trench coat tight, not wanting to let go. 

Dean felt a warm hand on his shoulder, and turned around to see his little brother, with the most heartbroken expression on his face, and nodded. Dean wiped his face, smudging some dirt onto it. He gently lied the body onto the cold concrete, slipping the trench coat from his angel, clutching it tight to his chest like a child would a teddy bear. Sam couldn't stand Dean like that. His heart was shattered when he saw the dead, haunted look in his eyes. He felt like Dean's eyes only lifelessly stared through him. 

He watched as Dean slowly disappeared through the giant doors of the warehouse. Sam pulled a bottle of salt, pouring it over the angel, then did the same with a can of gasoline. He stood up to full height and lit a match, staring into the flame as if it could bring Cas back. The fire flickered and moved down the match stick, forcing Sam to drop it. He quickly left, not wanting to smell the putrid burning flesh, or hear the grotesque pops and sizzle of the flesh slowly being melted. 

The night air was a stark difference compared to the heavy atmosphere looming around Dean. Sam slowly walked out, head hung, his jagged fingernails digging into his skin. Dean was leaning against the car door, the tan material of the coat clenched tight in his hands. Sam didn't need any sign before he wrapped his arms around Dean. For once, Dean submitted, tucking his head into Sam's shoulder, letting Sam being the protective older brother for once, despite him being four years younger than him. 

Words were not spoken, and sobs no longer passed Dean's lips. The only noises coming from him were heavy huffs of air as he was enveloped by him moose of a brother. Sam didn't need to hear anything from his brother to know that it had finally happened. The person he had looked up to, and sometimes down upon, his entire life, was broken. He wished, and prayed right then for all of this to just be a joke, some horrible joke. He hoped that a few fledglings from Castiel's garrison would come out and tell them they've been punk'd, just to have Dean back, have Dean that would just say something damn it. But life was never that easy, especially for them. All he could do was hold Dean in his arms and hope that everything could be okay again one day.


End file.
